


On the Other Hand

by Kalypso



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Decapitation, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-12
Updated: 2010-10-12
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalypso/pseuds/Kalypso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hadn't occurred to Sherlock that John's gaze might stray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Other Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Samuel Winchester's Hands and John Watson's Fantasies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/123300) by [mresundance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mresundance/pseuds/mresundance). 



> This was originally a comment fic, in reply to [mresundance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mresundance/pseuds/mresundance)'s [Of Samuel Winchester's Hands and John Watson's Fantasies](http://archiveofourown.org/works/123300), a lovely piece about John having a hand fetish. Which immediately made me think of the elegant little movements that Lestrade makes with his hands, and I was hoping there might be a sequel investigating John's response to them, but I was told I ought to do it myself. So I tried, but this is me, and it headed off in a not-porny direction which doesn't really have much in common with the original - except that that happened first and underlies what happens here so, if you're going to read one story about John's hand fetish, read that one. But mresundance subsequently encouraged me to post it to the [sherlockbbc](http://sherlockbbc.livejournal.com/) community on LiveJournal.
> 
> In summary, not much slash, but a horrible murder takes place before the start, probably inaccurately described.

"The head was removed within twenty minutes of death, using a small hand-saw..."

Crouching over the corpse, Sherlock began to sense something was not quite right. He kept on listing his observations, but started pausing for a fraction longer between them to listen.

"Quite a neat job, the killer wasn't nervous..." [wait] "so he's probably cut up a body before..."

There was no doubt about it. No one was responding to what he was saying. Lestrade had some excuse; he was taking a call on his mobile. Donovan never allowed herself more than the occasional scornful snort anyway. But John... there should be murmured questions, admiring comments, at the very least that appreciative sort of breathing Sherlock could still hear when John was trying not to sound too impressed. There was nothing.

"No signs of significant injury on the rest of the body... the victim died from whatever was done to the head before it was cut off..."

He allowed himself to glance up to assess the problem. John wasn't even watching him; he was standing motionless, facing Lestrade, his gaze...

Oh. John was staring at Lestrade's left hand, which was gesturing as he spoke into the phone held in his right.

"High velocity impact spatter predating the bloodflow from decapitation suggests he was shot..."

Lestrade's fingers might not be as long and slender as Sherlock's, but there was something undeniably elegant about the little waves and flourishes he made with his hands. Sherlock had registered it hundreds of times without giving it any thought. It had never held any significance. But it was only two days since he had discovered John's rather interesting hand fetish, and he supposed the fact that he had _indulged_ that fetish to such effect might have left John more than usually sensitive to stimulation. He'd never seen him stare at Lestrade before. It hadn't occurred to Sherlock that there might be other hands in play. Hands in play, yes, he ought to watch Lestrade and pick up tips on how to grab John's attention.

But not now. Donovan's puzzled look told him that his analysis had slowed down enough for even the police to notice. Lestrade had caught her glance as he ended his call, looking at Sherlock, and then at her, and Sherlock's eyes were jumping between them, and the whole thing was threatening to turn into a game of visual squash, with only John immobile as the sightlines bounced around him.

"The jacket's too big... so not his... probably means he was held for some time before being killed..."

He had to stop this, before someone grasped what was going on. Why? He never cared who was having sex with whom - he just noticed, and used it when he wanted to put someone at a disadvantage. Their fault for being so touchy. He was never bothered by the various erroneous guesses about _his_ sexuality, and he'd found the general assumption about him and John rather amusing. Why should it be different after they'd actually _done_ something? Oh, of course. It was John who was making a fool of himself here, and he'd be embarrassed later. Sherlock was just looking out for him; perfectly reasonable, he didn't want the distraction of an awkward atmosphere at crime scenes.

"The hands - " Yes, John, _hands_ , listen to this bit... " - the hands - "

The hands were unremarkable. He looked at one, then the other, trying to think of something to say about them. Wait a moment.

"The right hand shows markedly more liver-spotting than the left. Possibly indicates an outdoor job in which it was exposed to the sun regularly... the left could have been gloved to hold equipment."

"Could have been a cricket scorer," murmured a familiar voice.

 _What?_ It didn't matter, John was back.

"Explain your reasoning, Dr Watson."

"Harry played for Essex Women up to Under-19 level. I used to go and watch sometimes. The girl who scored... I remember a baking hot day when she kept her left hand under the scorebook to protect it from the sun, because she'd forgotten her sun-lotion, but she had to keep her right hand out to write with, and it was covered in heat blisters by the end of the game."

And you were watching other people's hands even then. "Good observation, John."

"You're saying this guy was a _cricket scorer_?" Lestrade asked, furrowing his brow as he extended one hand gracefully. Sherlock shuddered.

"No idea. It's irrelevant. The only thing about the hands that matters is that they _shouldn't be here_ \- they should have been removed, along with the head, to prevent identification of the victim. Therefore the killer - killers - were interrupted, and the person you should be questioning is the man who ran out yelling he'd found a body and calling for help - he was covering for the escape of his accomplices who'd got the head."

Sherlock jumped to his feet and started hustling John towards the door. "You can handle this yourself, I don't know why you called me in..."

"Wait a minute, Sherlock!" Hurrying after him, Lestrade grabbed his arm. Sherlock turned and stared at the offending hand, then felt a giggle rising up inside him.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Lestrade!" he hissed, and was rewarded with one of the most startled looks he'd ever seen on the inspector's face.


End file.
